


and in the neon glow i saw a monster

by signifying_nothing



Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Bloodplay, M/M, Public Sex, mad love, somewhat dubious consent?, this was supposed to be funny and lighthearted what happened, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 12:02:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7050070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/signifying_nothing/pseuds/signifying_nothing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>it's been a year, and nothing has changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and in the neon glow i saw a monster

**Author's Note:**

> written in about an hour and a half as an exercise to try and get my brain working again

Min Yoongi does his laundry at 3:15am every morning.

He works second shift at a thankless factory job and when he gets out at 11:30 his day has just begun. He does everything in the wrong time, circadian rhythm permanently altered by late nights and early afternoons, the inability to sleep in a regular pattern and hours spent watching his bedroom door, waiting to see if the lock gets jiggled.

He does his laundry at 3:15 in the morning and tonight there is someone else in the laundromat, someone in a towel, someone he knew once, sitting on one of the benches watching the washer spin around what looks to be a meager load of clothes and a backpack. There are necessities strewn about the table, pens and pencils and a first aid kit, water-bags and a sewing kit, an exacto knife and who knew what else. Yoongi minds his own business as he throws his clothes into the washers and pushes in the quarters. They take cards, but Yoongi doesn't have a bank account. He can be traced that way. His room in the hostel is paid for with cash, and so is his clean laundry.

It's been about fifteen minutes before the boy in the towel speaks up and Yoongi hates everything, especially the sound of low, honey-warm voices at three thirty in the morning on a Sunday.

“Hi hyung,” the boy says, and Yoongi closes his eyes and pretends not to hear. He has headphones on and he hopes that the illusion holds. His voice is just as cream as Yoongi remembers, smooth and rumbling like a purr. “Don't be like that. I know you can hear me.”

“What do you want, Taehyung.”

Taehyung smiles, his dark hair hanging in his eyes and to Yoongi he resembles Mowgli, the wild boy raised by wolves and maybe Taehyung was raised by wolves; wolves in a jungle of neon and steel, wolves with teeth made of knives and snarls made of gunshots. Taehyung grew up with a blade in his teeth and acid in his mouth and Yoongi had once met him blow for blow, they'd destroyed one another and Yoongi still had the burns to prove it.

He can see Taehyung's burn scars like a landscape across his golden back.

“It's been a long time.”

One year. One year since Yoongi went straight and got his shitty job and his shitty room at the hostel. One year of scrimping and saving for an apartment he could never manage to afford, for glasses he couldn't afford, for an inhaler he couldn't afford. Yoongi makes ends meet and that's all but it seems like he's doing better than Taehyung, who wears burn scars like medals, with gunshot wounds like someone split a paintball against his side and shoulder. Taehyung, who has bruises on his mouth and jaw and forearms.

“Yeah,” he replies, and Yoongi makes the mistake of pulling his headphones down, turning to face Taehyung fully. That wild smile hasn't changed. That beautiful jungle child Yoongi had spent sixteen years of his life with is still so vividly bright and spectacular. The purple of his bruising could be flowers on his skin. “Yeah, it's... Been a long time.”

“How's life?”

There is no venom in Taehyung's voice. There never has been. Even when Yoongi pulled away that night in June, even when he disappeared out the door of their shitty hostel room, even when he'd ignored every message, every letter, every call. Taehyung's voice was just as it was now: soft, warm, sweet. Patient, like he knew Yoongi would come back to him because he always does. Every time they break apart they come back together, the moon and the tide.

“...Shitty,” he says, looking down at his folded hands, at the beat-up CD player that plays quiet instrumental music into his ears. “It's pretty shitty. You?”

“Oh, you know.” Taehyung smiles and Yoongi aches to kiss him, feels the familiar tug in his lower belly and knows he shouldn't. Because Taehyung still lives a life Yoongi ran away from but god, _god,_ that smile still holds his heart in it's teeth and it's not fair, it's been one year and no one compares to the perfection of his valkyrie, his devil and demon and angel, Taehyung. No one ever will. No one could ever hope to hold a candle to Taehyung, who led Yoongi out of the dark and into the neon, and from the neon into the sun. Taehyung, who spent cold nights in cardboard boxes with him, who bathed in the filthy river that went through the city with him, who gave him his first kiss, his first blow, his first fuck, his first and only love.

“It's been real.”

“Taehyung—”

“Do you miss me?”

Yoongi is silent, stunned. Taehyung takes it as an invitation to keep talking, he always does. “I miss you. I miss you a lot these days. Jimin, Jimin is nice, but he's not you. He'll never be you. I'd make him pay for my time. I'd never make you pay, hyung.”

“Taehyung,” Yoongi says, whispers, grates out as Taehyung gets up, tall and lean and ruined, and sits beside him even as Yoongi tenses a little more with every step, stiff and unyielding when Taehyung's lips find his shoulder and kiss through the thin material of his t-shirt. “Taehyung, please,” Yoongi turns his head and Taehyung catches his lips. His mouth tastes like toothpaste, his skin smells like a babywipe and Yoongi wants to pull away, wants to shove Taehyung out of reach but instead he does what he always does because he's fucking _weak_ and he kisses him back. Min Yoongi kisses Kim Taehyung in the dark of a laundromat at four in the morning, turning to kiss him better, reaching to grip at his shoulder.

“God,” he breathes, when Taehyung pulls away and he feels those sharp teeth against his cheek. “God, Taehyung, no, no, please.”

“What,” Taehyung breathes, one hand in Yoongi's hair pulling his head back to bare his neck and Yoongi doesn't stop him. Yoongi doesn't stop him but arches his back when Taehyung sinks his teeth in and moans when Taehyung's tongue soothes the bruises. “What, hyung.”

“Please don't,” Yoongi whispers. “Please don't do this to me.”

“Don't do what, hyung,” Taehyung asks, kissing the reddened skin. “Show you what you're missing? You're the one who walked away, you could have stayed.”

“I wanted to stay,” Yoongi breathes, and Taehyung yanks on his hair, the back of his neck pressed hard into the curve of the plastic chair, digging painfully into the skin. “Taehyung please—”

“But you didn't,” Taehyung reminds, and Yoongi knows it's the truth. He left his wildman behind and Kim Taehyung never forgets. “You left.”

“I wanted you to come with me,” Yoongi whispers, and his fingers in Taehyung's hair are gentle. Yoongi has softened over the years. Where once he was hard and diamond sharp he is soft and curved. His heart still protected by an iron cage, but Taehyung stole the keys for that some time ago, when they were still both boys and he'd kissed Yoongi in his attic bedroom and promised to love him forever. “Tae, why didn't you come _with me._ ”

“I can't handle real life,” Taehyung says, and Yoongi feels his heart squeeze when Taehyung nuzzles his neck, his shoulder, bites into the flesh and holds on until Yoongi yelps in pain. “Monsters don't get to exist in real life.”

“Taehyung,”

“No,” Taehyung pushes away and Yoongi is left in the chair, heart in his throat, head dropped back. For a long while there is silence. Taehyung's washer stops and he puts all the clothes into the dryer, his towel still riding around his hips. Yoongi can see the soft bulge of his groin and feels his thighs tighten.

He is putting his own clothes in the dryer when Taehyung gets behind him and pounces.

It's a game they used to play: something to normalize the horror they experienced in their everyday lives. Whoever catch the other off guard gets to be in charge: in time it changed from being a slave for a day to being in charge for a week to getting free kisses, then blowjobs, then sex.

Taehyung bends over Yoongi and bites the back of his neck. Yoongi stays still, the circular metal of the dryer digging into his hips while his chest sits against his wet clothes. For a moment Taehyung just stands there, biting, panting, pressing his crotch to Yoongi's ass and holding his elbows. But the bite turns into a kiss and Taehyung pushes away and Yoongi slumps into the dryer and shivers, pushes his face into the bend of his arm to catch his breath.

“Hyung,” Taehyung says, and Yoongi pushes himself up, pushes in the quarters with trembling fingers. “Hyung, come sit.” Yoongi knows what Taehyung means, so he presses _start_ and walks to him, hesitates only a moment before he sits in Taehyung's lap, legs open over his, ass cradled into Taehyung's groin. For a few long minutes the two of them just recline there. They recline there while Taehyung kisses Yoongi's neck and ear and Yoongi holds Taehyung's hand just like they used to when they were both for sale and Yoongi feels a well of guilt rising up like bile in his gut.

“Don't,” Taehyung whispers into his ear. “Don't, don't, don't.” His hand slips into Yoongi's jeans. “Just let me, please let me,” his hand cups over Yoongi's erection and Yoongi parts his legs, rests his head on Taehyung's shoulder. “Let me love you, just for a minute hyung, please. Yoongi.”

“Yes,” Yoongi whispers and Taehyung moans into his hair, fists his cock into hardness and rolls his body up. He lays compliant in Taehyung's lap, feels his length through the towel and his jeans, feels Taehyung's breath on his ear and his calloused fingers gripping just like he likes it and Yoongi remembers that he was once a wildman too and perhaps underneath this civilized skin he still is, because he's pushing away. They're in a laundromat and it's four forty five in the morning and people are starting to wake up but Yoongi is yanking down his jeans and shoving Taehyung back into the seat and ripping away the towel, climbing on top of him and rubbing their bodies together, head thrown back, hands braced on Taehyung's chest. His thumbs find his nipples, rub over the smooth skin until Taehyung makes that funny little kitten sound. He bends to tongue them and feels Taehyung's cock twitch.

“Hyung,” Taehyung is panting and Yoongi can't think, he can't _think_ around the feeling of their dicks sliding against one another, the uncomfortable prickle of pubic hair and the hot glide of sweat. Taehyung's breath smells like toothpaste and his entire body smells like babywipes and Yoongi thinks back to nights in cardboard boxes, fucking to stay warm, cold toes in warm hands and kisses as food for hungry bellies. Yoongi thinks of eating cum because it was better than nothing, drinking piss because men paid extra for that. He remembers the warm spill on his shoulder and neck and Taehyung's little voice, _no, hyung you don't have to, hyung please stop_ but he never did. Never.

Taehyung's fingers slide over his hole and Yoongi jerks his hips, snaps them down and cums, hands fisted in Taehyung's wild hair and teeth bared against his cheek. Taehyung yanks him down and for a moment Yoongi is in the past. It is four years ago and Taehyung is offering him a shitty ring he found on the street. Yoongi wears it on his ring finger and now he wears it on a chain. Taehyung is holding it in his teeth when he cums.

The sound of their panting fills the laundromat. The dryers aren't done but Yoongi doesn't move, just spreads his legs and settles further, smears cum in their curls and slides his tongue over Taehyung's jaw. “You fucking animal,” Taehyung whispers, and Yoongi laughs. He laughs loud and long and when Taehyung stands he holds onto him. He holds on because he feels young again for a moment, because Taehyung's laugh in his neck makes him feel like all is right with the world, no matter how shitty it is.

It's been one year and Taehyung still ruins him like he always has.

“Put me on a leash,” he says.

“I'll choke you with a collar,”

“I'll rip your throat out with my teeth.”

Yoongi bites and Taehyung snarls, raking his fingernails down Yoongi's back so hard it hurts, he must be bleeding.

“Come home with me,” Yoongi growls out, digging his nails into Taehyung's scalp, yanking at his hair when Taehyung slams him into the table and the dryers are finished but Taehyung is grabbing for a razor and Yoongi is arching his belly. “Yes,” he breathes, panting, gripping the table with his arms bent to either side of his head when the exacto knife digs into the skin of his belly and yes, _yes,_ the scars there are still so visible, so bright when Taehyung has pushed his shirt up and pulled his nipple rings. Taehyung feels them out with his fingers before he digs the blade in and traces the K.

Yoongi bleeds down his side and shivers in complacency, pants hanging around one calf. The sun is starting to rise. Taehyung bends to suck at the blood, licks it away and wiggles his tongue against the wounds. One letter at a time, that's how they've always done it. Marked each other like animals, bit clawed fucked and claimed one another for their own.

It's been a year but it might as well have been none, because Yoongi still has _KIM TAEHYUNG_ carved into his belly and Taehyung still has _MIN YOONGI_ cut into his back and they'll never really escape one another. Never.

“Come home with me,” Yoongi pants, when Taehyung cuts the tip of his nipple with an X marks the spot and bends to suck softly. “God, Tae. Come with me.”

“I hate you,” he whispers, and Yoongi pulls him up, tastes the blood hot in his mouth and drying on his side. The sun is coming. The cum in his pubic hair is drying. “I fucking hate you for leaving me.”

“Come with me,”

“Fuck you.”

“Always.”

Taehyung pushes away and Yoongi lays on the table. He hears Taehyung get his things out of the dryer, hears him wipe off and get dressed. He feels the terrycloth wipe over his groin and side and nipple, he feels the kiss to the center of his chest.

“Lets go,” Taehyung says and Yoongi pushes up like he's living a dream, reaches to catch Taehyung's neck and kiss him. They kiss like they're drowning. One year and nothing's changed and Yoongi isn't sure he wanted it to in the first place. Taehyung protects him from the jiggling of his bedroom door, Taehyung keeps him warm. Taehyung is wild and Yoongi is afraid but at least he doesn't have to be afraid alone. The dark is less terrifying when there's another body there with him, when the monster has a man to keep him company.

Though which is which is anyone's guess.

 


End file.
